Love's Story (19 page)

“Followed your trail.”

“No. I mean why you? Where's Jonah?”

“Jonah arrived at camp about the time we found your horse. He and I went looking for you together. I sent him back into town.”

“Did the bull send you after me?”

“I came because I was worried about you. Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

“But…”

Meredith's face warmed, and she felt him leaning closer. His arm slipped around her back. She pushed him away.

“This is not proper. We cannot talk about this now, here alone.”

His voice was low. “You didn't answer me. Don't you like me?”

“I don't know.”

“You're right. Some other time. Let's try to get some sleep.” He leaned back against the large stump and closed his eyes.

Meredith felt abandoned. But she knew that it was best this way. She closed her eyes and told herself that she was fortunate he had found her, fortunate she wasn't alone in the cold and in the dark. She poked Thatcher.

“Humph?”

“Do you think we should sleep?”

“Of course.”

“Shouldn't one of us keep watch or something?”

He sighed. “You sleep. I'll keep watch.”

“Promise?”

“Mm-hmm.”

M
eredith burrowed her face into her pillow. Unconsciously, she shifted her leg in an attempt to alleviate some obscure pain. Slowly, as if coming out of a deep hibernation, her senses returned, her surroundings, the distressing events of the past twenty-four hours, the pain in her ankle. She had spent the night in the woods.

Her eyes started open. It was no pillow she was intimately nuzzling, but Thatcher Talbot's broad shoulder! With a jerk so severe that a jolt shot from her injured foot up through the tips of her hair, she pulled herself upright.

“Ouch.” She sucked in her breath.

Her brown hair clung to Thatcher's shoulder. She passed her hand through the wisps to clear the sizzling air between them.

With startled amusement, Thatcher said, “At last the princess awakes. My turn to sleep now?”

A pang of guilt gripped Meredith. He had been on watch all night while she slept. She squirmed into position. “Just hand me that knife of yours, and you may sleep as long as you like.”

He chuckled. “That won't be necessary.”

To Meredith's humiliation, Thatcher rose and tucked the blanket over her, before going to the fire. He jabbed the coals, and sparks shot into the air.

He must have replaced the wood throughout the night.

“I can't believe that I actually slept,” she said.

“I can. You were exhausted.”

He fiddled with a canteen and coffee preparations.

Meredith felt a growing alarm. “I need to find a private spot.”

Thatcher swiveled around on his haunches, gave their surroundings a sweeping gaze, and strode over.

He scooped her into his arms. “Up you go.”

“You don't need to carry me.”

“No trouble. Here you go.” He set her down behind a cover of trees, then cleared his throat. “I'll go back to the fire. Holler, when you're ready.”

She pinched her eyes shut from embarrassment.
This cannot be happening to me.

When she opened them again, he was gone from sight. She finished with her toilet, and an idea flashed across her mind to see if she could hop back to camp. But she discarded it. Any method she used would be equally belittling.

“Ready,” she called.

His impersonal manner led her to wonder if he was going to throw her, sack style, over his horse. Rather, he lowered and released her, and with a nothing-out-of-the-ordinary tone, said, “Coffee should be ready.”

The hot tin felt good in Meredith's hands. “Thanks.”

“You're mighty welcome.”

“For everything. For finding me. You don't understand how hard this has been for me.”

“Don't try so hard, Meredith.”

She gripped the cup. “Excuse me?”

“It's my pleasure to help. You're a likable person. Just because you have a cruel father doesn't mean others don't accept you.”

Her chin jutted upward. “I try hard because I want to succeed.”

“Maybe.” He studied her. “You are a good reporter. Do things because you want to, not to please others.”

“Is that what you do?”

“I guess, maybe I do.”

Meredith watched him kick dirt to douse the fire.

“I didn't mean any offense,” he said.

“None taken,” she said.

“Ready to go home?”

“Mmm, yes.”

Thatcher finished packing his gear, then carried Meredith to his horse. “You ride. I'll walk. If we keep the sun to our backs, we should find the road again.”

Meredith certainly didn't know which direction would lead them out of the deep woods.

“Oh…” He took something from his saddlebags. “You might want this.”

“My hat.”

He shrugged. “Found it along the trail.” He gave his saddlebags a pat. “Got your boot in here, too, for safekeeping.”

She gave him a grateful smile.

An hour passed.

“It shouldn't be long now,” Thatcher said.

By midmorning, they intercepted the road.

Meredith gave a joyful cry. “This road never looked so good.”

“How's your ankle doing?”

“It hurts, but I'm getting used to it. How about your arm?”

“It doesn't bother me much. But if you don't care, I wouldn't mind joining you up there.”

She did mind, but how could she refuse him? She shrugged. “I just want to get home.”

He effortlessly swung into the saddle behind her, then gave his horse a gentle nudge. “Let me know if the pace is too hard on you.”

Her ankle ached at the increased jostling, but Meredith didn't tell Thatcher. She only wanted to get home, off this horse, and away from this man whose arms wrapped around her. She appreciated his rescuing her, of course, but their close proximity only hindered her resolve to stay emotionally detached.

They reached Buckman's Pride before noon. Thatcher slid off the horse and led her through town, which bustled with its usual activities.

Please don't let Mrs. Bloomfield see me like this,
thought Meredith.

Only her eyes moved, assessing their progress and hoping against all hope that they would remain anonymous—parading, as it seemed to her, through town.

Thatcher looked tense as he returned nods and greetings.

Meredith chose to ignore them, her lips pressed over gritted teeth. She gave her hat a tug to shield her face, but it did nothing to conceal her wild, matted hair, and she wondered what kind of nasty notes she would receive this time.

As they neared the bank, she sucked in her breath and sat statue still. A heat of humiliation crept over her. Silent spurts of defense rushed through her mind—much like one whose life passed before them in a time of danger:
All part of the job. Couldn't help it that bear came out… Jonah was supposed to come….

Then to her most nightmarish dread, she heard the bank's door creak open. Meredith dipped her head, and tears soaked her shirt. She felt the horse stop and swiped a hand across her eyes.

Thatcher reached up, and she fell into his arms. She felt his breath against her face. “It's going to be all right now.”

He carried her to the doctor's office and paused just outside the door to wipe away her tears.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

Thatcher shouldered the door open.

“What have we here?” The doctor asked with concern.

“Horse threw her. Hurt her ankle.”

“Lay her here.” The doctor carefully examined Meredith's ankle.

Thatcher backed away. “I'll go tell Jonah and Mrs. Cooper you're safe.”

“Yes, please,” Meredith called softly. “Thank you.”

“Now then, let's see what you've done to yourself,” The doctor said. Meredith flinched as his hand probed the injured area.

Meredith's ankle was only sprained. The doctor wrapped it, gave her something to drink, then delivered her home. Mrs. Cooper and Jonah heard them approach and ran outside. Jonah carried Meredith into the house, where she caught a glimpse of Thatcher's face and anxious eyes.

Up in her room, Amelia cleaned Meredith enough to slip her between the sheets.

“You just rest a bit, and when you're up to it, I'll fix you a hot bath. We can talk later.”

“I'm so tired.”

“Probably something the doctor gave you. Rest easy, now.”

Meredith gave a feeble wave of her hand. “Amelia, give Mr. Talbot my thanks.”

“I will indeed, and that's not all. I'm going to fix him a big meal before he rides back. I'm mighty grateful he found you and brought you back to us safe.”

“Me, too,” Meredith murmured, just before she dozed.

F
or the next couple of days Meredith did little except mope around the house and receive visitors. There was Mr. and Mrs. Washington from the mill. Francine Wiley brought over her pudgy-cheeked twin boys to cheer Meredith. Even Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield came calling.

The latter confided, “I heard you were missing, and then when I saw you ride past the bank looking so pathetic…. I do hope the experience wasn't too horrifying.”

“It was. I was never so frightened in my life.”

“Tell me everything that happened.”

Meredith did not know why Mrs. Bloomfield was suddenly so concerned. Was she as caring as her honeyed tone implied? Meredith saw the raw anticipation in Mrs. Bloomfield's eyes, and Thatcher's advice came to mind.

“Just because you have a cruel father doesn't mean that others don't accept you. Do things because you want to, not to impress or please others.”

“I'll tell you everything, but you won't faint on me, will you?”

Mrs. Bloomfield leaned forward, a gloved hand fluttering at her lips. “I should hope not! Please, go on.”

“I was riding without a care, knowing full well that Jonah was to follow me, of course. All of a sudden, my horse reared up. And then I saw it. A bear…”

Mrs. Bloomfield gasped. “I would have died on the spot. What did you do?”

“Well, I had no choice….” Meredith went on to detail the entire episode.

When Mrs. Bloomfield left, she pecked Meredith on the cheek. “Please call me Beatrice, won't you?”

Even Amelia gave Meredith a nod of approval from across the room. Most likely, Beatrice would let the townspeople know she had the entire delicious story straight from the source. It was a thing too good to keep. Being a reporter, Meredith knew the thrill of a good story.